


Espresso Patronum

by zigostia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Sherlock is clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 23:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15959759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigostia/pseuds/zigostia
Summary: “I'm joking,” John said breezily. “Girl's name or not. I don't mind, if you know what I mean.”“Ah,” Sherlock said with uncertainty.





	Espresso Patronum

“Morning.”

“Good morning. Black, two sugars, medium,” Sherlock said, reaching his hand into his pocket to fiddle for a pocketful of change.

When there was no response, he looked up. “What?”

The barista blinked. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Black, two sugars, yeah—” He punched something into the cash register. “Large.” He reached out his hand with his palm facing up. His eyes were a strikingly dark blue, and they flickered up to meet Sherlock's before darting down to the counter, where they stayed. “That'll be one-fifty.”

Sherlock counted out some coins and deposited them into the waiting palm.

“Name?”

Sherlock frowned. “Why?”

“You're new here, aren't you?” came the response. “I mean, I'm sure I would've remembered you.”

Sherlock hummed absently. “I am,” he said. “My name's Sherlock.”

“Interesting name,” the man commented. “Much more interesting than mine.”

John, read his name tag. Sherlock looked up from it to see John writing on a paper cup with a gold Sharpie, silently mouthing  _Sherlock._ He was left-handed, he noted.

John placed the cup on the counter and tucked the pen behind his ear. “If you're new here,” he said, “you should try the croissants. They're amazing. Baked with love and all that.” He looked at Sherlock and smiled with just the corner of his mouth. “Made them myself.”

A small frown tugged at Sherlock's lips. “I already paid for just the coffee,” he pointed out.

John shrugged. His smile had faded, but the twinkle remained in his eyes. “Well, maybe next time.”

“Maybe next time,” Sherlock echoed, and moved to the side so John could tend to the next customer.

-+-+-+-

His name was written in a cursive that was jagged and uneven in a way that was partially amusing and almost endearing. The ‘K’ at the end looped around and underlined it all.

Sherlock scanned over it with dubious interest when he had finished his coffee, and then tossed it into the recycling bin outside of his Chemistry class. His gaze passed over it as he entered the building, where it lingered for a second longer.

-+-+-+-

“Good morning.”

“Hello, John,” Sherlock said. “Black, two sugars. Medium.”

“Gotcha,” John said, grabbing a cup. He took the Sharpie out from behind his ear and pointed it at Sherlock. “Sherlock, right? Isn't that a girl's name?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I'm not a girl, I assure you.”

“Shame,” John said, “‘cause otherwise I'd ask you out.”

Sherlock's eyes shot up. “Pardon?”

“I'm joking,” John said breezily. “Girl's name or not. I don't mind, if you know what I mean.” His eyes stayed with Sherlock's gaze. Dark blue, Sherlock noticed again.

“Ah,” Sherlock said with uncertainty.

John held his gaze for another moment, and then his face broke into a grin. “Anyway, coffee. It'll be here in a moment.”

Sherlock nodded, and made his way to the side, hearing John's “good morning” to the next customer in the queue.

-+-+-+-

There was a smiley next to his name this time, the mouth crooked and slanted to the side, a smudge at the edge where a hand pressed up against the plastic.

Sherlock absently traced over it with a finger before throwing it in the recycling. He turned his head towards it as he entered his class, and, as he passed, remembered that he'd forgotten to try the shop's croissants.

-+-+-+-

“Morning, Sherlock.”

“Hello, John.”

“Black, two sugars, medium?” John said before Sherlock could speak again.

Sherlock paused. “Yes, actually. And a croissant.”

It was John's turn to look surprised. A moment later, his face split into a lopsided grin that Sherlock was becoming rather accustomed to.

“It's supposed to be two pounds,” John said, tapping on the register, “but I'll give you one fifty because I like you.”

Sherlock's eyebrows drew together. His eyes zeroed in on John, who was still smiling.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, ending on more of a question than a statement.

“Anytime,” John said easily.

Sherlock moved to the side.

-+-+-+-

John had written an ‘X’ to the left of Sherlock’s name.

Sherlock touched the tip of his finger to it, and then raised his hand to his chin and tapped his bottom lip, where a flake of croissant lingered. He nudged it with the tip of his tongue and stole it away. John hadn’t lied about his pastry skills, apparently.

-+-+-+-

“Morning, Sherlock.”

Sherlock managed a small smile and a nod. “Good morning, John.”

John’s eyes took on a more attentive look as he scanned Sherlock’s face. “You alright?”

Sherlock hummed, nodded again. He rummaged through his pockets for his change. “I had an assignment that I needed finished. Didn’t sleep.”

John pursed his lips. “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s not a problem,” Sherlock said. “I’ve gone longer without.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” John shrugged. “But anyway, coffee.” He tilted his head. “Wanna boost it to a large? I won’t charge you more.”

Sherlock eyed him dubiously. “Are you allowed to do that?”

John grinned. “Would you tell the manager?” The grin slid to one side of his mouth. “Besides, I told you—I like you.”

“Alright,” Sherlock relented after a moment, and then, “I owe you.”

“Nah,” John said. “You can pay me back some other way in the future.”

“I’m not quite sure how I would,” Sherlock murmured.

John blinked. Something went out of his shoulders. He sighed a little. “Forget it. You can just keep the tip jar in mind instead.”

Dutifully, Sherlock dropped two fifty-pence coins into the small glass jar, and then moved to the side to wait for his (large) cup of coffee.

-+-+-+-

This time, it was a heart that accompanied the scrawled cursive of his name.

Sherlock looked at it for a long time.

As the empty cup made its way into the recycling once again, he was suddenly hit with the image of how John had smiled—in that way that favoured the left side of his mouth.

His chest stirred with something that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The spontaneity of it was so peculiar that he nearly walked straight into the door of the Chemistry building.

-+-+-+-

“Sherlock.”

“John,” Sherlock responded, similarly slowly. He was intrigued: both the single word greeting and the shift in tone was curious.

John bit his tongue, licked his lips, and then squared his shoulders and looked Sherlock in the eye. “I was wondering—”

He cut off abruptly to break into a fit of coughs. Sherlock watched with growing pique.

“I was wondering,” John tried again afterwards, taking a deep breath, “if you would like to have coffee.”

There was a long pause, in which John’s face grew increasingly pink and Sherlock’s grew increasingly confused.

Eventually, Sherlock spoke.

“I’ve been getting coffee here for the past week,” he said. “I think it would be safe to assume that I do.”

John blinked. “Oh, no,” he said. “I meant, like—together.”

Sherlock frowned. “You want coffee, too?”

 _“No,”_ John said forcibly, and then, “I mean, yes. I do. But I want coffee  _with_ you. With the two of us, I mean.”

The crease between Sherlock’s brow grew deeper. “You want  _me_ to make the coffee?”

“No!” John shouted, and then, “fucking  _shit.”_

A bout of murmurs rise from the queue behind him. Sherlock shifted on his feet and looked at John with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I—OK, how’s this.” He sucked in a breath. “Dinner. Forget the coffee, let’s have dinner.”

Sherlock’s mind was in a whirl. “This is a coffee shop. You don’t serve dinner.”

Something passed over John’s face. He opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly, then took a deep breath through his nose, waited a moment, and let it out through his lips.

“If you’re taking the piss,” he said, softly, clearly, “I’m going to murder you.”

Sherlock wondered if his body had grew so reliant on caffeine that, without it, he simply could not think straight. He opened his mouth to speak (to apologize? Ask for clarification? He didn’t even know at this point), but John held up a hand and he didn’t get the chance. He was almost grateful.

“I like you,” John said. “In…  _more_ than a ‘friendly local campus barista’ kind of way.” He licked his lips. “If you’d forgive the elementary school vocabulary, I have a crush on you.” He paused, and then nodded firmly. “Yeah? So when I suggest getting coffee or dinner, I don’t mean  _here._ I mean a  _date._ I’m asking you out.” He offered a wry smile. “That clear enough for you?”

Sherlock blinked. And blinked. And blinked.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely louder than a murmur.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

 _“Oh_ is right,” John said, the smile spreading into something looser, more genuine. “Git.”

“So—” Sherlock suddenly found his mouth stuffed with cotton, his tongue replaced with a useless block of wood. “So what you’re trying to say is—”

“You know what I’m trying to say,” John said, exasperated. “We’re going in circles. And you’re holding up the queue.”

Sherlock paused. “Two people have left already,” he said. “You’ve been giving me discounts for the past week. And while we’re on the topic, you’re actually supposed to be charging tax for all the drinks.”

John’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

Sherlock laughed.

John gave him a grin—yes, that one,  _of course—_ (and Sherlock wondered how he hadn’t known all along). “I should just quit,” he said. “And then go out for coffee with you in here.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sherlock said.

John paused. “So it’s a yes?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s a yes.”

“Yes,” John said, and then, _“Yes!”_

“Hurry the fuck up,” someone shouted from the queue.

John’s eyes darted to a spot behind Sherlock. “Sorry, sorry,” he said in a rush, and quickly punched something into the register. “One seventy-five.”

Sherlock’s hand stilled in his pocket. John looked up.

“Tax included,” John said cheerfully.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Sherlock said, but he was smiling.

-+-+-+-

Next to the scribbled cursive of his name was a string of numbers, an ‘X’, a heart, and a happy face. His name was underlined three times.

Sherlock looked at it, the smile having not faded from his face since he’d walked out of the shop. He finished the last of the coffee in one swallow and recycled the cup, everything written on it already embedded into his memory.

John’s phone number was something he would never need anything to refer to.

**Author's Note:**

> Just some good ol' fluff, nothing fancy. I was in the mood. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
